Chapter One

GUESS WHAT?

“Zack, Junior, you’re not gonna believe who’s in my math class,” Lauren shouts, tossing her new red knapsack onto the lunchroom table. “Chas Winters.” Her blonde ponytail swishes from side to side as she swings her legs over the cafeteria bench and sits down next to me.
Chas is the town bully and ultimate nasty boy. He’s terrorized almost every kid in the neighborhood and most of the students at Westfield Middle School. My friend, Junior is petrified of him. Ever since Chas tied him to a sprinkler with a hose and shoved a Lego block up his nose, Junior’s policy is to stay clear of Chas. Even I was a victim last year, being chased down a hill and doing his evil deeds, like pouring alcohol into the Halloween punch, which I only pretended to do, and handing over the answers to a test for one of his wanna-bees. But that was before I shared some valuable information about the school lunch with him, and almost got my butt kicked that same day. He’s still a bully, but I think we’re on pretty good terms.
Lauren’s announcement surprised me because Chas was in the seventh grade last year. He should be taking eighth grade math now, but he’s in Lauren’s seventh grade class. That means either he was in the wrong math class on the first day of school, or he’d been left back, at least in math.
Dawn Miller walks over to our table and takes a seat next to Junior. Her short brown hair bobs as she reaches over and gives him a quick peck on the cheek. They’ve been dating since last year. “Looks like we all have lunch together again.”
“Not Mikey,” says Sarah Michaels, in her high squeaky voice. “He’s got lunch sixth period.” She takes the seat next to Dawn. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Dawn and Sarah apart, except for the time I went to the movies with Junior and Sarah. I was going out with Marcy then. She dumped me in the middle of August. Two weeks after she dropped the bomb, she started going out with Doug Mather. His dad owns the Chicken Coop fast food restaurant. He’s a real dork, if you ask me.
I should be okay in school this year as long as I don’t run into her, which will be tough since we’re both in seventh grade. I know there’ll be auditorium programs, school events, and a good possibility of having a class or two together. And I thought sixth grade was hard.
“Maybe Chas made a mistake,” I turn to Lauren, ignoring Sarah and Dawn’s concern over their outfits.
“I don’t think so. Mrs. George looked disappointed when she saw him walk in the door. She’s making him sit in the first seat, right in front of her desk. I guess she’s expecting he’ll be up to his usual antics, and doesn’t want him disrupting the rest of the class. It’s better that he’s in the front, then I don’t have to feel paranoid with him behind me.”
Junior focuses on his plate. He shovels the new semester’s mystery lunch into his mouth. “Junior, how’d you get lunch so fast?” I ask.
He pauses momentarily to explain. “Mm-I got on line when mm-I walked in.” Then he starts stuffing his face again.
“I can’t believe I’m going out with such a pig.” Sarah rolls her big dark-brown eyes.
The rest of us laugh, before getting up to get on line. We leave Junior at the table with our stuff, while we shuffle into the lunchroom. We grab our trays off the stand as we pass the stack. Hot lights shine onto mounds of discolored foods, and an unrecognizable stench escapes from under the plexi-glass sneeze guard. Vivid memories of last year’s pseudo-meals crowd my head.
“I can’t believe we’re gonna eat this stuff again,” Lauren says.
“I can’t believe we survived last year’s meals,” I laugh.
Fatty Patty is doling out the school’s signature mystery meat and grey-tatoes, as Greta Gravy welcomes students back to the lunchroom while pouring ladles of lumpy beige liquid over everything. Lauren holds her tray out to receive her share, which Fatty Patty plops onto a cardboard plate. And as usual, Mean Madge presides over all of the lunchroom activity. Her sinister smile and nod make me think that she knows more about what’s in the mystery lunch than she’s letting on.
Lauren and I sit down at the table. Junior gets up at the same time. “Where’re you going?” Sarah asks.
“Back for seconds.”
Glances of disgust volley back and forth from everyone at the table. How can he eat that food?
Several minutes pass before he returns with another tray of that smelly lunch. A scrawny boy, with blonde stringy hair and clothes that are too big on him, tags behind Junior. They’re about the same height.
“Hey guys, this is James. He’s in my first period social studies class,” Junior says. “His family moved here from Michigan. I told him he could sit with us.”
Everyone says hello, and Junior points to the empty seat next to Lauren.
There’s an awkward silence. Then Lauren asks James about his old school, but she’s interrupted with a much-feared sound echoing from across the cafeteria and everyone is quiet again.
“Hey, Meyers.” His stare bores through my head. The voice bounces off the walls. Junior looks around frantically for a place to hide. He pushes me over and crouches under the table. Everyone else freezes in place, tightly gripping plastic utensils in mid-air. The room is so quiet you can hear a worm burp.
Chas’ blonde, spike-topped, crew cut bops up and down above the crowd as he crosses the room, zeroing in on our table. Taking inventory of the members, the bully’s attention focuses on me. “Meyers, I think I’m in your science class next period.”
What? Why me? What’d I do to deserve him in my class? “Oh?” I say, trying not to let on that I heard about him being in Lauren’s math class. “Why would you think you’re in my science class, Chas?” The words come out before I can think about what I’m saying.
“I’m sure the whole school’s talking about my being held back.” He extends his right hand and examines his fingernails, as if repeating a grade is no big deal. Mom and Dad would kill me if I were left back. “I guess I didn’t have the right people doing my homework last year, but that won’t happen again.” He stares at me. I feel the table shake and without looking, know it’s Junior trembling underneath. “From now on, you’re in charge of that, Meyers.”
Great! Now I have to do his science homework. “Chas, I’ll help you as much as I can, but… ”
“No, Meyers. I don’t need your help. I need you to do my homework. I don’t think McCaffrey will give any today; she never gives on the first day of school, but I’ll be expecting it every day at lunch, starting the day after tomorrow.” He gives me a Grinch-like grin before he heads out of the cafeteria.
Everyone around the table stares at me. “I thought you guys got along,” Lauren says.
“Me too,” I add. “I guess playing the occasional basketball game with him during the summer doesn’t get me out of the bully treatment during the school year.”
“What are you gonna do?” Junior says from under the table.
“Well, I’m not doing his homework.”
“We’ll see.” Lauren grins. She knows me too we

Chapter Two
NEW BUDDIES

I enter Mrs. McCaffrey’s science class and see Chas sitting in the last row. His left arm is stretched across the windowsill, and his chair is tilted back from the desk. “Hey, buddy,” he says, as if we’re best friends.
I offer a crooked smile in return and look around the room for a seat toward the front, as far away from Chas as I can get. The students filing in from the hall fill in the gap between us. James walks in just as the late bell rang and takes a seat on the other side of the room.
Mrs. McCaffrey looks just as pretty as she did last year. Her platinum blonde curls bounces above her shoulders as she writes on the board. She turns and faces the class. Her sky-blue eyes shimmer and her tiny waist seems even smaller than I remember from last year. Although I’m happy to have her as a science teacher for a second year in a row, I’m a little sad because it was in this class last year that I met Marcy. I wonder if she has Mrs. McCaffrey for science during a different period.
Mrs. McCaffrey writes the topics that we’ll be covering for the year on the board. Instead of dissecting frogs, we’re going to have to do an extensive research project on one of the functions of the body. I thought of Marcy and how we shared an interest in science. We were a good team. How am I going to get through this year with out her?
The bell rang and a large paw lands on my back. “So Meyers, excited that we’re classmates?”
“Oh, yeah.” My voice is flat. I’m thrilled – not.
“Where you headed now, buddy?” he asks.
I open my loose leaf and look at the schedule clipped to the inside cover. “Gym.”
“Hey, me too,” he says with a smile. “We can walk together.”
Great! Now I’m stuck with the school bully as my hall-mate. Chas’ thunderous strides move him forward through the hallway. I walk slowly, hoping to lose him in the crowd of other middle schoolers, but his chunky sausage-fingers pull me along by the shoulder of my shirt. He stops periodically to talk with various students in the hallway; some he’s friendly with, offering a greeting or “Hey. How’s it goin’?” Others he intimidates; “Joey, I expect that first social studies homework by the time we walk in the building tomorrow or there’s a wedgie waiting for you, got it?” Joey’s rosy face drains of color and he shakes in his crisp, new school clothes.
I keep walking every time Chas stops, but he grabs my shoulder and pulls me to a halt next to him, as if we’re Siamese twins.
“We’re gonna be late, Chas.”
“Don’t worry, Meyers. Shevlin loves me.” He’s referring to Mr. Shevlin, the PE teacher, who hates tardiness. The late bell rings just as we step into the boys’ locker room.
“Okay, ladies, you know the drill,” Mr. Shevlin’s gravelly voice ricochets off the tiles in the locker room.
I head straight for the same locker I used last year. Junior’s already wearing his shorts and tee shirt, as he closes his combination lock.
“Hey, what took you so long?”
I keep my voice low and explain about my new best friend. I change as fast as I can as Junior waits for me. Then we walked into the gym together. Chas separates himself from his crowd of hooligans and they take the squad spots that Mr. Shevlin assigns them. Chas is at the far end of the gym. Mr. Shevlin reviews the rules of conduct for the semester. We’re given the option of free play for this gym period, but are told that the new sports unit will begin the next time we come to class.
I pick up a basketball and bounce it in front of Junior a few times. He juts his chin out to indicate something behind me. James is standing in the corner by himself. He looks lost in his over-sized tee shirt and his shorts hang on his gangly frame.
“Hey, James, come shoot some hoops with us,” Junior shouts.
James feet drag as he walks over. “I’m not very good,” he says, looking down at his worn out sneakers. I look, too, and notice that there are more holes in them than in a screen door. And, he’s wearing two different colored shoelaces.
“Neither is Junior,” I joke and sink the ball through the hoop.
Junior shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “Don’t listen to Dr. J over here. It doesn’t matter if you’re good or not. Let him have the ball, Zack.”
I toss the ball to James and he takes a shot. Thud! It hits the backboard and bounces off the outer rim of the hoop before Junior catches it.
“At least you can hit the backboard,” Junior says.
James’ face doesn’t register emotion. I’m not sure if he knows that Junior’s kidding.
We play until Mr. Shevlin blows the whistle and signals for us to go to the locker room to change.
“Where to next?” Junior asks.
“I’ve got Spanish. What about you?”
“Me, too.”
We walk down the hallway and find out that we have different Spanish classes, but they’re next to each other.
“We can walk to the bus together after class,” Junior suggests.
“Okay, I’ll meet you out here when the bell rings.”
Forty minutes later, Junior and I leave our classes at the same time. We compare notes as we walk through the hallway. Lauren is already on the bus. Junior takes the seat next to her and I plop down in front of them. Then we share our first day’s experiences.
“I don’t want to upset you, Zack,” Lauren starts, “but Marcy’s in my English class, last period.”
I pretend not to care. “So?”
“Just thought I’d let you know.”
I don’t need to know, but I’m glad she told me. Now I can time it so that I don’t have to run into her. Yeah, that’s a good plan to avoid seeing her accidentally. I don’t think I’m ready for that yet.
From the window, I see Mr. Roth, the assistant principal, picking up cans of spray paint from the far side of the school building. He’s tossing them in the garbage bin. Since it’s still warm, the bus windows are open.
“Pat, I want to review the security tapes,” Mr. Roth says to the security guard.
The bus pulls away from the curb and Lauren’s voice breaks my concentration. “Oh, don’t wait for me tomorrow after school.”
“Why?”
“I’m staying late, to try out for the school play.”
Junior’s twisted expression is like when someone tells you something gross, but you don’t want to come right out and say, “Ew!”
“What play is it?” I ask, trying to be supportive.
“Mary Poppins,” she says, straightening her back and raising her head. “They’re having auditions for all positions. Wanna try?”
My answer is immediate. “No.” I don’t even have to think about it.
“What part are you trying out for?” Junior asks, while rolling his eyes.
“I thought of trying out for the part of Jane Banks, one of the children that Mary oversees. That way, I don’t have to sing too much.”
“Singing?” Junior flips back into his seat. “For sure, I’m not trying out.”
“That’s a good thing, Junior.” I smile.
* * *
“So, how was the first day?” Mom asks, holding out a plate of oatmeal raisin cookies and a tall glass of cold milk. I knew she’d been waiting all day to hear about the not-so-great events, but I make them as interesting as I can. I don’t want to disappoint her.


Chapter Three
Excuse Me

Normally, I don’t mind art class, but today a new student transferred in. Mr. Kern is interrupted mid-way through his speech about Chinese influences in everyday advertising when there’s a knock on the door. Everyone in the class weaves and bobs, struggling to see who’s in the hallway. The only hint is a hand from beyond the door. It reaches in and hands a crisp clean white pass to Mr. Kern, who hasn’t broken his flow of speech. The pass is a stark contrast to the teacher’s lime green hair and the paint-smeared smock that he always wears. Without looking at the paper, he tosses it onto his desk and points toward my side of the room. The new student strolls in from the hallway. His identity finally revealed.
My mouth drops open as the new addition to our class pulls back the empty chair next to mine. His books make a loud thud as they hit the table.
“Hey, Meyers,” his voice presses my nerves as he sits down like a sack of onions being tossed onto the floor.
Great! Now Chas is in my art class, too. Do I have to do his art projects also?
Pretending to be interested in Mr. Kern’s lecture, I offer a quick “Hey” without turning my head.
The bell rings and I try to make a quick escape, but Chas intercepts me at the door. “This looks like a pretty cool class, eh, Meyers?”
“Yeah. Mr. Kern is cool.”
“I like that he’ll let you make whatever you want as long as it relates to what he’s been talking about.”
“Yeah, he’s good that way.” I’m trying to get around him but he shifts his body in front of me. “Well, I’ve got to make it all the way across the building for next period.” I cross my fingers and hope that works.
“Oh, yeah, right.” He moves to one side so I can pass.
Is Chas trying to be friends? I shudder at the thought and sprint through the hallway, dodging students left and right. I don’t want to be late; Mr. Harris makes examples of students who are late. Aside from the ton of homework he normally gives, he adds one essay question for every minute a student arrives after the late bell. I’m not about to answer homework questions until midnight.
I turn to see where Chas is and tilt my head to look past the students traveling around me. Whew! He’s not there. I slow to a walk. I don’t take my eyes off the hallway behind me. Bump! I jerk my head back around and realize that I had run into another student. There’s an explosion of books and papers all over the floor. Quickly, I bend down to collect the sheets of loose-leaf paper that are scattered on the floor. The other student lowers herself next to me and shuffles the scattered papers, too.
“I’m sorry,” I say and look up.
The girl lifts her head. Her warm golden-brown eyes feel like a laser through butter. “That’s okay, Zack.”
I’m frozen in place and focus on her rather than the papers I’m supposed to be picking up. Her smile holds me prisoner. I don’t even notice the other students racing past us. “I, um… hi, Marcy. I’m very sorry. I was trying to get to class.” I can’t take my eyes off of her; I stand with a wad of jumbled papers in my hands.
“It happens.” She stands, too. I pass her the disorderly stack of papers and books.
“I heard you have English with Lauren,” I say.
“Yup,” is her reply before she looks down at the floor.
“How’s Doug?” I can’t believe what I just heard myself asking. Dumb, dumb, dumb! How stupid am I? Maybe that’s why she dumped me.
“We broke up.”
“Oh?” What? My heart stops pounding against my rib cage. Instead, it’s dancing.
“Move it along,” Mr. Roth shouts.
“Well, maybe I’ll see you around,” she says.
“Yeah, maybe,” I echo. Another stupid thing to say. She walks around me with a stack of muddled papers and heads for her class.
Still trying to make sense of the whole situation, I get to social studies just as the late bell rings.
“So glad to see that history is on your list of things to do today, Mr. Meyers,” Mr. Harris says. The class roars with laughter.
My face and ears get hot and I shuffle to my seat and open my notebook. Feeling watched, I turn to my left. Rebecca Kennedy is staring at me. Her hazel-green eyes don’t blink. In fact, her whole body is still, like an alien has invaded her. It‘s strange and uncomfortable.
“Mr. Meyers, can you tell us what country helped the colonists in the War for Independence?” Mr. Harris asks.
“Um, um, France,” I manage to get out.
“That’s correct,” Mr. Harris says and turns to write my answer on the board. He’s wearing his signature turtleneck and mismatched sport jacket, and his hair is jutting out all over the place, as usual. This guy is strange to look at, but he passed me with a B+ last year, so I can’t rank on him too badly. I look at Rebecca to see if she’s still staring, but her focus is now on what Mr. Harris is writing. Oh my gosh, when is this class gonna be over?
Finally, the bell rings and I collect my stuff and head for the door.
“You used to go out with Marcy Reynolds, right?” Rebecca is standing in the doorway.
“Yeah.”
“Why’d you guys break up?”
“I dunno. I guess she didn’t like me any more.”
“She’s dating Doug Mather now, right?”
“Not any more. I hope you’re not trying to cheer me up, Rebecca, because it isn’t working.”
She looks down at her hands. She’s tapping her pen against her loose leaf. “Sorry, Zack. I didn’t mean to… ” She turns her head up slightly and gives me a sideways glance. “I just wanted to know if you were dating anyone now?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“Why do you ask?”
“Just curious.”
This time it’s my turn, “Oh.”
“Move it along, students. You don’t want to be late for your next class,” Mr. Harris ushers us out of his room. No doubt he wants to bore the next group of students with his re-telling of American history.
Rebecca keeps her gaze on me. “Well, bye.”
“Bye,” I return. That’s weird. What was that all about?



Chapter Four
Barf for Lunch

“Duh! She likes you,” Junior says, before stuffing half a grey hot dog into his mouth.
“C’mon, Zack. If Junior recognizes when a girl likes you, then it must be obvious,” Lauren adds.
We put our trays on the table and sit on the bench. “But she was asking about Marcy.”
“Boys are so clueless. ‘Cos she wants to make sure she has a shot,” Lauren says.
James walks over to the table. “Hey, guys.”
We offer a unified, “Hi.”
Lauren continues to ask me questions about Rebecca’s body language. “Was she batting her eyes when she spoke to you? Or did she fidget with her hair?”
“How should I know? I wasn’t really paying attention. I was trying to get over how stupid I acted when I rammed into Marcy.”
Lauren starts her next question, but stops in the middle. I look up at her. Her blue eyes are fixed to the right of me. I turn and follow her line of sight. She’s watching James, who is rather green around the edges and is holding his stomach.
“You okay, James?” I ask.
His eyes widen and his expression is panicked. His mouth opens but no words came out. Instead, he spews a stream of yellow-pink puke onto his lunch tray. Chunks of Pop tarts mixed with rancid milk and bile cover his plate, which is already filled with mystery lunch. It stinks! The smell reminds me of the time Mom left Joshua’s baby bottle in the car during the summer time when he was two.
The girls surrounding him shriek and students are holding their noses. I lunge across the table and shove my napkin over his mouth. I know what getting sick in the cafeteria can do to a guy’s reputation. I grab his shirtsleeve and pull him out of the cafeteria. I don’t stop until we’re in front of the sink in the boy’s bathroom. As the water runs, I grab wads of paper towels from the dispenser. After dowsing them, I try to clean James up as best I can, the way Mom used to on the hours long drive to Grandma’s house when I was younger. Those rides always caused my stomach to do flip-flops.
“Okay, okay,” James says, dazed by the experience. I give him another clump of wet paper towels and instruct him to wipe his face. He snaps out of his trance as the cold damp towel touches his hands.
When the color returns to his cheeks, I ask, “Are you feeling better?
With a bewildered expression he says, “I think so.”
“Yeah, well, let’s hope it was only our table that saw.” I put my arm around his back, which incidentally, is the only part of him that isn’t covered with watered down puke. “C’mon, I’ll walk you to the nurse. Then I’ll go back to the cafeteria and get your stuff.”
“Thanks, Zack.”

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 17.11.2010

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